


Cut The Tape

by BilletDoux



Category: Fight Club (1999), Fight Club - All Media Types, Fight Club - Chuck Palahniuk
Genre: M/M, this is very gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 00:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5437016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BilletDoux/pseuds/BilletDoux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The memories are like a movie you can't quiet put in order</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cut The Tape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a fellow sinner](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=a+fellow+sinner).



> First thing I post to AO3 and it's for a movie that came out 16 years ago. I'm making good life choices.

You wake alone.  
Once in awhile you'll find yourself in his bed.  
But you'll always be alone.

The events from the night before can never be described as a full film.   
They're more like freeze frames.   
Sections of a whole picture that can be used to make one coherent image. Like piecing together a puzzle or some type of artsy Monet.  
Every morning it's your job to put them together.  
Change the reels and make it look seamless.

Calloused hands roam every single nook and cranny of your peeling, broken, skin. fingertips trace outlines of bumps and scars left from that Saturday's fight club.  
(His hands are rarely ever warm.)  
A mouth follows patterns of purple and yellow bruises. It's one that rarely kisses.  
(Has he ever kissed you?)  
A tongue commits even more heinous atrocities against man-kind. Ones you know you'll beg to have done to you over and over again.  
(He smells like cigarettes and soap.)  
Nails dig into your thighs and leave angry red marks.  
(Never hickies. Tyler Durden doesn't leave hickies)  
In your mind, you flip through picture after picture after picture. Sometimes it's hard to tell where Tyler begins and where you end.  
But you can always manage to make out most details of the nightly show.   
Afterall, the evidence still sticks to your skin.  
It's your day off though, and you think, there's no point in showering if you're just going stay in.  
Because you know when Tyler gets home it won't really matter how you look or what you smell like.

You feel like asking him where he was all day, but the word drops when he's already managed to get you pinned against the wall.  
You do manage to ask him what this is all about, and no doubt you've asked this before. Because you can feel the hot breath of a laugh on the back of your neck.  
There's that scent of cigarettes and soap again, assaulting every single sense you have.  
He whispers against your ear, like he's afraid someone else could possibly hear you two in this shitty rundown house in the toxic waste dump part town, and he tells you  
"Because everything's falling apart. we're made of the same decaying everything else is. Why the fuck does it matter?"  
You don't ask questions after that point.  
With nodding consent you place your life faithfully much in the hands of Tyler, like you've been doing for months up to that point  
Because this house is the church of Tyler Durden and his filthy stained mattress is your altar

You wake up alone  
Cut the tape  
Change the reel  
And you'll do it again tomorrow morning.

**Author's Note:**

> The working title for this fanfiction was "Taking "Go Fuck Yourself" to a Whole New Level" and I feel like that's important.


End file.
